


roughneck

by brokke



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Boats and Oil Rigs, Case Fic, Friendship, Gen, Mystery, POV Multiple, Protectiveness, Team as Family, Undercover Missions, further tags will be added w/ part 2 :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26643697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokke/pseuds/brokke
Summary: What exactly was out there was anyone’s guess.Or, how Torchwood find themselves in the employment of an oil company with something to hide.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper & Jack Harkness & Owen Harper & Ianto Jones & Toshiko Sato, Jack Harkness & Owen Harper, background Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17
Collections: Torchwood Fan Fests: Bingo Fest 2020





	roughneck

**Author's Note:**

> A two-part case fic for the Torchwood Bingo 2020! Prompts: undercover/disguise, benign alien visitors.
> 
> (expect inaccurate representation of working on an oil rig, because this is not my forte. apologies if anyone reading this... knows about oil rigs....)

Carwyn Thomas smiled at the man in front of him.

It was a taut smile, professional and rather empty, with the air of a person who had more important things to do. Damn the boss for putting him on interview duty, he thought; surely there was someone more qualified? Chances were, there was. But they were out on the job and wouldn’t be back until the next change around.

Speaking of a change around, he himself would be headed out in two weeks from now. A part of him longed for the excitement he’d felt on his first few shifts, shaking from the chill and anticipation, that view of the rig being nothing less than sublime.

Carwyn sighed as he pulled out a chair on one side of the desk. He must be getting old.

“Lovely day,” the man said, following Carwyn’s lead and taking a seat across from him. He wondered for a brief moment how a man from London came to be taking a job around this area. Then again, men would seek out the rig as an escape.

This man, however, didn’t look to be running.

“It’s kicking up a gust or two out at sea,” Carwyn replied. No point in going easy on him. The fear of the ocean was real and ended many careers before they began; he’d better get used to the harsh truths as soon as possible.

“Excellent.” The man grinned. Had he applied for the wrong job?

Clearing his throat, Carwyn pulled a sheet of paper towards himself, picking up his pen and beginning the process. “So,” he said. “Medic.”

“Yep.” The grin remained.

“Any offshore experience?”

“None yet.”

“I’ve got all your paperwork here. You’re a very accomplished guy - what made you want to work with us?”

“Oh, y’know. Fresh start. Can’t spend my whole life in a hospital.”

“I’ll be honest with you; the hospital probably paid better.”

“Mate. It’s the NHS,” he sighed. “I wish that were true.”

Carwyn shrugged. He’d given up putting any thought into other people’s life choices. “So. What are your sea legs like?”

He cycled through the standard list of questions, zoning out halfway through the answers. Truth be told, he’d been instructed to hire anyone who walked through the door. The rig was running low on staff and with mid-winter around the corner, they needed all the manpower they could get. These questions were just a front to appear somewhat professional. They’d be screaming job offers from the rooftops if they could.

It was odd, then, that this was the second man to walk in today. A medic and an engineer, both of which had the physicality for drill work - if this didn’t get him in the boss’s good books, he didn’t know what would.

The first man had smiled even more than the medic; Carwyn had felt a little intimidated at his overwhelming confidence, and most of all, the passion to work on an oil rig. That enthusiasm was rare for a job that was usually the last resort for most people. He’d had an equally impressive list of qualifications, all of which left an air of mystery around the application. Plus - he’d been American.

“Well,” Carwyn said when the man ended his final answer. He stood up, his chair scraping on the tiled floor. He held out a hand to shake. “Congratulations, Mr Harper. Welcome aboard.”

* * *

“Toshiko!”

Jack wasn’t one to wait until he was within earshot. His voice carried across the Hub over the noise of the door, and Tosh patiently sat back from her computer screen.

“Tosh,” he repeated, jogging with a characteristic bounce up the stairs. The day had gone well, then. “Smashed it. As always.”

She smiled back. “They accepted you?”

“Both of us.”

He walked forward and took her head in his hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she laughed, shoving him gently away.

“It was an easy one, really…”

“Don’t -” he stepped back and pointed a finger in her direction - “put yourself down.”

Owen appeared behind him. “Their security checks were shoddy. I think they’re desperate.”

Jack nodded in his direction. “They were. But, still - couldn’t have done it without my brand new engineering degree.”

“Yeah. Good job, Tosh,” Owen agreed. They’d opted to fake his qualifications, too, just to be safe. If the rig company found out how qualified he really was, they’d know something wasn’t right.

“Gwen not with you?” Tosh asked, brushing off the praise. She’d enjoy it later.

Jack shook his head. “Her interview’s tomorrow morning.” He made his way to his office as he pulled off his coat. “Gotta pack,” he called over his shoulder. “We start in three days.”

Tosh turned in her chair and met Owen’s eye, sending him a smile. He returned it and glanced away. Whether or not they were thinking the same thing, Tosh would never be brave enough to find out.

She’d miss him.

Depending on how long they were gone, of course. And they’d be in contact via Gwen should it all go to plan.

They’d caught wind of the activity during a routine satellite check; Tosh’s software, similar to that of her PDA on a larger scale, scanned the coast for extraterrestrial communication regularly. Due to the scale of the scans, it was bound to miss anything less prominent, but the oil rig complex in the Irish Sea and just off the North Wales coast sent her alarms system into a frenzy.

What exactly was out there was anyone’s guess. They’d done research remotely, digging into the employment records of the complex, but nothing stood out as suspicious. There was only so much Tosh could access via hacking the servers, too - this job, considering it could pose a significant threat, had to be done from the inside.

Hence Owen, Jack, and Gwen seeking employment at a small Welsh oil company.

“You nervous?” she asked, watching Owen pace the Hub.

“Nah. Wish I could take a gun, though.”

“I bet.” She turned back to the screen, gazing at it without seeing. “And you’ll stay in touch?”

“Yes, Tosh.” He said it a little too harshly and faced her afterwards, holding up his hands in apology. “I mean. Yeah. Promise.”

She gave a small nod. “‘Kay.”

He took a sharp breath. “I’m just a bit…”

“No, I get it.”

“Yeah. Alright.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Gwen plastered on the fakest smile she could muster. A smile that said ‘Hi, I’d love a position at your firm, hire me and I’ll breeze my way through your tedious admin tasks with the enthusiasm of Myfanwy just before breakfast’. She straightened her back and brushed her hair behind her ear, doing her utmost to look like an eager schoolgirl at her first-ever job interview.

“Ms Cooper,” the woman in front of her began. She was the classic receptionist role; mid-forties at least, a cotton scarf that must be no use against the coastal chill, librarian-style glasses on the end of her nose. She flashed a smile almost as manufactured as Gwen’s was. “How was the drive up?”

“Oh, you know. A bit slow on the four-seventy. Got here in time, though.”

Distracted by the paper in her hands, the interviewer - Mrs Ripley, Gwen was reminded by her name tag - ignored the answer with a dismissive nod. This was a woman with things to do.

“Talk me through your administrative experience.”

Gwen strengthened her smile, seeing Ianto’s notes in her mind’s eye, rewinding to hear his voice over the phone on the drive up. He’d been through this in great detail; what to say, how to act, even encouraging her to memorise a list of employment buzzwords.

“Well,” she began. “I got my first job at a veterinary practice…”

* * *

Ianto and Tosh, sprawled on the floor of the Hub, collected the pieces together in Tosh’s new design; a modified radio, small enough to fit in the sole of a boot, undetectable by port security. Owen and Jack would be able to reach Gwen onshore, and Gwen would report back to the Hub.

“You should be on this mission,” Ianto told her, armed with a screwdriver and following her instructions. Despite how often she worked from the Hub, there was a certain reassurance to having Tosh in the field. There wasn’t a situation she couldn’t engineer her way out of.

“The sea isn’t really my thing,” Tosh replied. “Besides. They’ve got it handled-”

She broke off when the alarms sounded, announcing Gwen’s arrival.

“Tosh, you star,” she began, crossing the Hub. “Got the job on the spot.”

“Congratulations,” Ianto said, and Gwen chuckled at his fake sincerity.

“Easiest interview I’ve ever done -” she paused, taking off a rain-soaked coat and draping it over the railings - “And it was with an entirely fake version of me.”

Jack appeared from his office at the sound of her voice. “You’re in?”

“Yep.”

“Excellent. Tosh? How ‘bout the radio?”

“Give me a little longer. Should be done by tomorrow.”

“Great.” He stood in the centre of the room with his hands on his hips. “Can’t help but feel like we’re forgetting something.”

“It is odd to be split up,” Ianto pointed out, standing up with a sigh. He straightened his suit jacket and handed the finished radio piece back to Tosh, who pointedly didn’t respond.

“I know. And I’m sorry. Next time there’s an invasion, I promise - it’s a team effort.” He paused, watching their expressions. “I mean, we’ll all be there. You’re still needed on this one.”

“We know,” Tosh spoke up. “We’d just like to be sure you’re safe.”

“Don’t you worry. We can both swim.”

She didn’t look convinced. Neither was Ianto.

* * *

Two days later, Owen sunk onto the bench of a boat just large enough for the group. With his bag of minimal supplies by his feet, he tried not to let his uncertainty show; the boat consisted of him, a man who he assumed to be the skipper, and five sea-hardened men that really looked the part. The conversation was laid-back and thankfully made no effort to include him.

The group, including himself, was dressed head-to-toe in orange waterproofs, a buoyancy aid strapped to their chests and hard-hats under their arms. The boat had an open deck beyond the cabin area, but they'd noticed the clouds in the sky and opted to remain inside.

Owen felt someone appear at his side and turned to see Jack on the bench next to him. Seeing him without his usual shirt and coat just added to the oddness of the situation.

“We’re not supposed to know each other,” Owen muttered.

“No one’s watching.”

They’d arrived at the harbour early that morning, dropping Gwen off on the way and splitting up when they got there. Owen boarded first after rather half-hearted security checks, followed by Jack a few minutes later, eager to keep up the pretence that they’d applied separately.

Owen sat back with a sigh, Jack’s presence taking the edge off his nerves regardless. Not that there had been any. Obviously.

“Looks like we’re the only new recruits.”

Jack nodded. “Think that’s a bad sign?”

“I don’t know.”

The engine kicked in a few minutes later and the boat moved backwards, pointing the stern away from the jetty at an angle. It straightened up and accelerated steadily, sending a small jolt through the boat that went unnoticed by the other men.

The noise of the engines picked up, just enough so that any conversation would be hard to make out unless you were sitting next to each other.

“D’you get seasick?” Jack asked as the boat continued to speed up.

“Not sure,” he said, hoping the answer was a no. “You?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

He couldn’t make out much of the view from inside, but Owen felt the boat begin to pitch regularly; the waves signified they’d left the harbour, in view of the open sea.

“You haven’t done this before?”

“Work at sea? Not for this long.”

“Figured you’d know all about it.”

“I’m as in the dark as you are. Although, I’ve dated a few sailors in my time-”

“Right. That’s enough.”

He twisted in his seat to catch a glimpse of the harbour dropping away through the window. They were well beyond the coast now, with sea gusts battering the panes of glass. It was a captivating view but Owen turned back, trying to avoid looking like an eager child in front of the other men.

Jack smiled and nudged Owen’s shoulder with his own. “We’ll be fine.”

“What if we get there and it’s infested with aliens with a taste for human flesh?”

“Then I’ve got you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Owen. Relax.” Jack leaned into the wall of the boat, shutting his eyes and crossing his arms. “You could have been the secretary.”

“Not sure if Gwen would be up for this job.”

“I don’t know. She’s shockingly strong.”

* * *

In the meantime, Gwen was amusing herself by adjusting the height of her office chair.

Yeah. Seriously.

It took her right back to her job at the police station, when work consisted of patrol and paperwork; except, this was without the patrol. The paperwork was less interesting than police reports, which she hadn’t thought was possible until this morning. And judging by the noise of the wind on the metal walls of the office, constructed from a shipping container, they had far less of a budget.

Gwen checked the clock again, hoping she’d killed some more time with the chair height adventure. Nine fourteen, the digital screen told her. Bum. She’d only been there for a quarter of an hour.

Gazing out of the single grimy window, she could just make out the green-grey sea across which morning clouds cast large shadows. The turbulence of the water proved that it would soon be kicking up a bit of a storm.

The boys would be gone by now, on their way to the rig and armed to the teeth with warm clothes and non-perishable food, all courtesy of Ianto’s packing intervention. She felt an all-too-familiar stab of worry.

“It’s a bit chilly in here,” came the voice of Siân, her teenage fellow administrative assistant. “So I brought us some coffee.”

Bless. She was trying her hardest to be friendly. “Lovely,” Gwen smiled, taking the styrofoam cup from Siân’s hand. The coffee didn’t feel very warm.

Siân reminded her of Emma in a way that hurt a little, if she were honest. With an eager-to-please wide-eyed smile, it was easy to go along with her attempts to make a friend, despite the age difference, and of course, Gwen’s preoccupation with the modified radio in her pocket.

“The boss gave me your login,” Siân grinned. She handed out a yellow post-it note. “That computer’s awfully slow, but I can help you change your password.”

Cheeky sod.

“The WiFi here used to be horrendous,” she continued, pulling up a chair beside Gwen’s new desk. “We got our own router end of last month, so now it’s nice and speedy, but the operating system is still old as balls - it’s like Windows from another century…”

Punctuated by Siân’s commentary, they settled into a slow and monotonous routine of completing the tasks sent via Email from head office, and Gwen had never longed for Torchwood more.

Well. It wasn’t like she wasn’t doing… Torchwood stuff.

Siân stepped out the door for a fag at half-past ten, and Gwen made herself useful. With new access to the firm’s Intranet and delivery records, she scanned the spreadsheets and calendars for any information Tosh hadn’t been able to find online; scrolling fast with her eye on the entrance, she searched for anything you wouldn’t expect out of an oil drilling company.

Problem was, she didn’t yet know what you _would_ expect out of an oil drilling company.

Gwen buried her head in her hands and rubbed at her eyes, still groggy from the early morning drive up; a journey in which the three had brainstormed what aliens would want out of an oil rig in Wales. Their theorising had consisted of wildly inaccurate theories and dozing off, waking up only to complain about the early hour, and interrupt Jack’s lecture on Xaux Galaxy technology to ask if they could stop for breakfast. Needless to say, there was nothing of use from that experience.

In the middle of watching for a break in the pattern, whatever form that might take, Gwen wondered if Siân was an alien. She considered for a moment, listening to the kid chat to a friend on the phone outside, and concluded that she didn’t really seem the type.

Combing through the last of this month’s records with a yawn, she decided to expand her search; the alien presence had only become apparent recently, and they could have been on the rig for a while before Torchwood spotted it.

The break in the pattern, when Gwen eventually found it, stuck out like a sore thumb.

* * *

The rig appeared with sudden clarity.

It took less time than Owen had expected for the boat to slow to a crawl, approaching metal structures that rose out of the water into a point he couldn’t make out. The light in the cabin dropped when they drifted into the rig’s shadow, engines growling with the pressure of the manoeuvre.

Following the lead of the rest of the crew, Owen and Jack stood up and made their way forwards onto the deck of the boat.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, trying not to feel overwhelmed.

Seeing the complex from low in the water was an experience like no other; the height of the thing was vertigo-inducing, muted reds and oranges elevated against a backdrop of grey skies. He craned his neck to take in the whole sight, turning partially on the spot and catching sight of the second and third structures, each connected by narrow walkways suspended high above the water. The one in front of the boat was the largest, chimneys and cranes pointed at the clouds, the hum of machinery audible alongside the boat engines.

Owen shook the thoughts from his mind, stowing his awe away for a later date. Right now, he had to focus.

He moved away from Jack, conscious of maintaining the image that they were strangers.

Jack didn't spare him a glance; his own eyes were fixed on the sight above them, the look on his face indecipherable. He was more likely weighing up the dangers than appreciating the view.

There was a lifeboat attached to the outside of the rig, some twenty feet high. Possibly more were strung to the other sides out of sight. These, he knew, would be their only escape; the sea was unswimmable beneath the rig, the waves slamming metal pillars with deadly ferocity. Besides, the land was out of sight.

One misstep and they'd die at sea.

Well. Owen would die.

He suppressed a shudder.

They stood for a few moments as the boat fought the currents. The wind caught on his clothing when they moved further out onto the deck, reflected off the rig structures and buffeting him at all angles.

One man at the front of the group, the obvious leader who’d shown no interest in Owen or Jack, gave a wave with his gloved hand. He was motioning to the personnel who stood on the rig above, one of which sent back an affirmative salute.

There was an additional grinding of gears alongside the noise of the machinery, and a platform, made of a metal mesh and hung from thick wires, was lowered down from the rig. It stopped just shy of the end of the bow, a foot or two higher.

Three men ahead of him stepped forward without hesitating. They took hold of additional wires that fell loose near the base of the platform and attached them via a carabiner to their suits, the strong belts functioning as a rudimentary safety harness.

As if they were boarding a bus, the men took their places on the platform with ease, holding onto the wires with one relaxed hand. A few seconds later and the man on the rig gave a shout, ordering the platform to be winched upwards, the three men spread evenly apart on its surface. It tipped sickeningly in the force of the wind, pulled upwards faster than appeared to be safe.

It stopped above the surface of the rig with a jolt, sending the platform swinging, but the men boarded the rig with a confidence Owen didn’t feel.

He forced himself not to think. To get in that unfeeling, unafraid headspace he so often used, and focus only on where he put his feet.

He followed the lead of the others without a word, or even a glance at Jack. He was walking forward on the boat, securing his bag to his back, then boarding the platform and tying himself in, pulled upwards, higher by the second, the wind burning - he was on the rig with a spinning head yet deceptively steady feet, landing with a well-timed jump, and the move was over before he had a chance to think about the height or the water beneath him, ice-cold and unfathomably deep.

A brush of Jack’s arm on his was the first thing to ground him.

They didn’t make eye contact, but it was enough to make sure they were both intact.

The wind wasn’t any weaker up here, but it was far more steady, and without the continual spray of the waves, Owen found himself relaxing. He took a breath, smelling oil that masked the sea salt, and wasn’t sure why the strength of it came as a surprise.

Giving up on maintaining his cool demeanour, he turned on the spot and looked back out to sea. The boat was making its careful way in the opposite direction, having dropped off the last of the crew, and taking onboard the previous shift. That wasn’t what Owen focused on; rather, he fixed his gaze on the horizon - he had no doubt the waves would be the same all those miles in the distance, but from this angle the sharp separation appeared pleasantly still.

To his side, he noticed Jack doing the same.

An announcement from one of the crew members interrupted his musings and he turned to rejoin the group.

The next few stages passed in a blur.

They followed the crew through an indoor corridor, stowing bags in assigned lockers - to be moved to accommodation in the evening, he was told - and went on as instructed, ushered through corridors that all looked the same.

He did everything he could to not draw attention to himself.

This lasted until Owen was pulled away from the group, no doubt for rig-specific medical training; he risked a glance behind him as he left the room, feeling the first twinge of real fear when he failed to meet Jack’s eye.

* * *

“Pass me a beer?”

“Thought you weren’t going for the alcohol.”

“One glass won’t matter. I mean, one bottle. Whatever.”

Ianto leaned over the arm of the sofa, reaching down to fetch a beer from the packet on the Hub floor. He retrieved a bottle opener and cracked off the lid with a neat tug, a few bubbles spilling out onto his fingertips.

He turned back to hand it to Tosh, who sat with her small body folded up on her half of the sofa, wrapped in one of the blankets they’d pulled from storage. She thanked him with a smile.

“Cheers.”

A bowl of popcorn and their second pizza box lay between them. Ianto relaxed back into the sofa, returning his focus to the monitor they’d moved in front of the sofa; Diana Rigg graced the screen, clad in her fur coat, followed shortly by a George Lazenby in all his James Bond glory.

Tosh had picked this one from the DVDs he kept in the tourist’s office. An anxious wait with no one to go home to meant breaking out the collection.

“Who’d you prefer?” He asked, and Tosh looked up from her beer.

“Hm?” She glanced at the screen, where the two characters were involved in rather intimate conversation. “Oh. Diana Rigg. No question.”

“I’d have to agree.”

“This James Bond is a little too old for-”

She cut off when the phone on her desk buzzed, a flashing light appearing on the nearby computer screen. Standing up and throwing aside the blanket, which unfortunately landed on Ianto and the popcorn, Tosh crossed to her desk in a few quick strides. She picked up the phone with a slight tremble in her hands.

“Gwen?”

“ _Tosh_ ,” said the voice from the other end. “ _Hi_.”

“What’s up? Is everything alright?” She caught Ianto’s gaze and he raised his eyebrows as if to ask her why Gwen was calling. Tosh shrugged back.

“ _I found something. Had to wait until I was back at the hotel, though; sorry it’s so late._ ”

“We weren’t asleep.”

“ _Ianto there_?”

“Yes.” She fought the temptation to ask after Owen. He’d be fine. If it was urgent, Gwen would have found a way to call earlier.

Tosh put the phone on loudspeaker, letting Ianto listen in.

“ _I’ll send you the photos, but something’s up with that place. Besides the aliens, of course_.”

“How do you mean?”

“ _I went through the offloading schedules. You know, when they move the oil to land-_ ”

“Yeah.” Tosh moved back to the sofa and sat down in an effort to stop her heart racing.

“ _And here’s the weird thing - no oil has been offloaded in the last three months_.” Gwen paused for emphasis.

“That’s weird how?”

_“They’ll transport it once a month, on the dot. I checked the records. Never a day late._ ”

Tosh and Ianto exchanged a look.

“They’re hoarding it?” Ianto cut in. “What for?”

“ _I have no bloody idea. Can you put some pieces together down there? I’ll send you anything else I find_.”

“We’ll do our best.” Tosh hesitated and exchanged another look with Ianto. “Have you heard from them?”

“ _No_.” Gwen must have anticipated Tosh’s disappointment because she rushed to reassure her. “ _No news is good news. They’re not going to contact me outside of an emergency_.”

“Yeah. I know.”

* * *

With a crack of static that he muffled under a pillow, Jack tuned the radio into Torchwood’s private channel, stowing it in the pocket of a waterproof coat.

One fifty-seven, the digital clock read.

The rig was no quieter at night; he kept noise to a minimum so as not to wake the two other men in the room, but the constant buzz of the drill provided a safety net for late-night investigations.

One fifty-nine. He hadn’t slept.

No time now, though. As soon as the clock hit two in the morning, Jack swung down from his bunk and landed gently on the carpeted floor, before approaching the bunk underneath.

“Owen.”

“Mm?

“Get up.”

Waiting for all of two seconds, Jack reached down and pushed at Owen’s shoulder, only stopping when Owen groaned and forced his eyes open.

“Piss off-”

“The plan was two o’clock,” Jack said under his breath.

“It’s two already?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

The look on Owen’s face told Jack that they’d had similar late-night shifts. He ached more than he had done in years, after only a day’s worth of work.

Owen sat up and pulled on a jacket, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Medic, my arse,” he said, stretching out his shoulders. He kept his voice to a whisper. “This is nothing but manual labour.”

“No one to patch up today?”

He shook his head. “There was training this morning. Otherwise, same shit as you.”

Before Owen and Jack set out to sneak around the rig, hoping to run into something untoward, they’d anticipated a large number of people on watch; this was a twenty-four-hour profession and the corridors were unlikely to be quiet.

However, after leaving the bunks as quietly as they could, the ever-present drone masking their footsteps, there was no one in sight.

The dark and unfamiliar corridors were a little disorientating, coupled with the rhythm of the waves that Jack swore had got larger by the hour. It all created an odd dream-like effect. He blinked to clear his head and focus on the route, but could tell the exhaustion was catching up with the both of them.

“You got the radio?” Owen asked at his shoulder.

He gave a short nod. “We can head upstairs, see what’s happening in the office. Might also be an idea to check the off-limits machinery.”

“We shouldn’t split up.”

“Agreed.” Reconsidering their options, Jack thought through the best ways to make use of their time. They wouldn’t have long until the next shifts started at full force. “Not much we can find in an office that Gwen hasn’t already found,” he pointed out.

“Let’s head outside; fewer cameras, more noise.” Owen’s conversation was fast and to-the-point. He’d slipped into the practical mindset of the mission. Jack noticed the stiff placement of his hands, likely itching to hold a familiar pistol, or even a torch. He felt the same.

“Yeah.” As reluctant as he was to be out at night with the weather picking up, it was the best course of action.

They reached an exit a few moments later, and Jack tried the rusted door handle; it was unlocked but took a push with his shoulder to force open.

The door swung outwards and he all but fell through, the intensity of the wind outside catching him off-guard. It led out onto a narrow platform, suspended thirty feet or so from the surface of the water. Not that he could make out a clear surface - in the orange glow of the floodlights, he watched the sea in turmoil, dipping and rising with a fluctuating roar. He would have pressed his hands to his ears were he not gripping the door handle with one hand, and Owen’s arm with the other; Owen held back, the two of them already shaking in the chill of the wind.

Jack found himself wishing he hadn’t left his coat at home.

“Right?” he shouted over the noise, with a gesture in that direction. Owen returned it with a nod.

He tried not to flinch when the door slammed shut behind them. Stepping close to the edge to grip the railings, they made their way along the side of the rig, squinting against the wind. This was on another level to a Cardiff rooftop. Let go of the railings and you’d lose your footing in a matter of moments, boots sliding on the metal mesh of the walkway, the sea reaching out with inky black hands.

He checked back to make sure Owen was close behind him.

For the second time, Jack wondered why they hadn’t run into any workers. The weather was too rough to be drilling but maintenance was essential around the clock, so he’d expect personnel keeping an eye on the things, especially in conditions like these; a few screws were bound to be shaken loose, right?

He considered for a moment that he was overreacting about the absence of people. A likely possibility, he thought, seeing how little he knew about the workings of a rig. Still - it was beginning to feel like a ghost town, the eeriness dampening his gratitude to not being seen.

The platform at the bottom of the stairs was where the railings dropped off.

Nothing stood between them and the sea, which was high enough to reach the platform, a wave swelling upwards through the mesh every few seconds.

Already soaked through from the spray, Owen and Jack barely hesitated; with a short glance at each other, they stepped onto the platform, making a grab for the wall before the next wave appeared. They slipped over to the door at the far end that stood up a short flight of stairs, a bright red _KEEP OUT_ sign placed clearly in its centre.

They forced the door open together; it pulled towards them with a click as the rusty lock snapped, creaking on its hinges. Jack and Owen exchanged a look - the sign had been enough to deter people up until now. Torchwood wasn’t the kind of organisation to listen when told to keep out.

Owen stepped through first, making a face at the stronger scent of oil, the room almost overwhelming with the thickness of the smell. It was loud, too; this, he knew, was an engine room. One of many. But not one that seemed to be available for maintenance by the crew. He’d learnt in only a few hours how flat the hierarchy on a rig was, how much responsibility each crew member held. It struck him as odd that a highly volatile room - in more ways than one - would be off-limits to those who were paid to keep it all running. The secrets in here could spell only bad news.

The temperature changed rapidly as they made their way further into the room. The heat from the machinery, much of which made little to no sense when Owen tried to decipher its function, was almost as suffocating as the smell. He fought through it, blinking when his eyes began to water.

“Something about this doesn’t make sense,” Jack continued. He circled the setup with eyebrows furrowed. “It’s all essential stuff…”

His voice trailed off, lost in the noise.

They’d reached the back of the room when Jack stopped, staring with shock at what he saw. Owen crossed to join him, neither man breaking the silence when he noticed it too.

He reached out to take the radio when Jack held it out in one hand. Owen turned it on without looking, unable to tear his eyes off the sight in front of them.

Additional machine parts were affixed to the regular engines, in a way that was obvious even to him - they spread across the contraptions like a fungus, intertwined with what had existed beforehand, manipulating it for a new and unknown purpose.

The machinery was like nothing he’d seen. It emitted a strange white glow, its curves and mechanisms in stark contrast with what was human.

This was undoubtedly alien.

* * *

Gwen couldn’t sleep.

She tried phoning Rhys after hanging up on Tosh, giving up when it went straight to voicemail. Of course it did. He wouldn’t be awake at two-thirty.

Clambering out of bed for the fifth time that night, she crossed the room to open a window. No luck there, either; a cheap-as-chips hotel room on the second floor wasn’t going to have such luxury as an opening window. It wasn’t like the room was too hot - the air conditioning was a little too effective. She needed the night air to clear her head.

Next best thing, then.

She got dressed and slipped on her coat, pocketing her hotel key card and the radio. She left the hotel and set out on the short walk to the docks, arriving at the water’s edge in just under ten minutes.

The weather had worked its way to the shore, wind picking at the tips of waves as clouds blocked the stars. The lights of ships at sea were muted in a thick film of rain, their ghostly greens and reds crossing paths - Gwen looked out as far as her eyes could see, the black of the night sky mixed into one with the sea. She brushed her hair from her eyes and the wind only pushed it back.

She felt the radio before she heard it - vibrating in her pocket, it sent Gwen’s heart racing. Almost dropping it in her haste to answer, she pushed down on the button to reply, turning away from the water in an effort to hear it over the wind.

“Hello?” she said.

The answer, although immediate, was nothing but a blur of static. She tapped the radio in frustration, knowing it would do no good.

“Jack?”

Shit.

With a second glance at the conditions out at sea, Gwen took a breath to calm her nerves. It didn’t help. Returning the radio to her pocket, she swapped it for her phone, dialling the Hub’s number.

“Tosh? Hi. Yeah, we’ve got a problem...”

* * *

“I’ll go outside, try again.”

Jack took the radio from Owen and he nodded in response. Gwen’s words had been impossible to make out

He left Owen by the mystery setup and made his way back to the door - he spotted it swinging in the wind and felt certain he’d closed it when they’d entered. It wasn’t anything to worry about, though. The door had broken open easily enough.

He slowed his pace when the weather hit him once again. With a sudden downpour of rain added to the mix, it was a shock to emerge into; he pushed through, trying the radio for a second time when he’d stepped a few metres out the door.

She didn’t answer.

Cursing under his breath, not that anyone would hear him anyway, Jack rounded the corner and climbed higher, hoping he could reach Gwen despite the weather. The rig swayed in a particularly large wave and he kept his gaze ahead, avoiding the sight of the ocean.

From the corner of his eye, Jack noticed movement - he turned with caution, hoping it had been nothing but a sea bird or a sheet of rain.

“Hello?” he called, just in case. If the movement had been a workman he could feign being lost.

He continued his slow ascent when there was no answer, gripping the railings and standing too close to the edge for comfort.

He tried the radio. No luck.

A shadow flashed to the side of his vision.

Jack returned the radio to his pocket, feeling safer with both arms free, should the shadow be more than just that. He stood in a small opening near the top of the rig, horribly exposed, his back to the railings as he checked every direction for the dark figures he feared he might have seen.

After so many years, he’d become skilled at sensing proximity.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he announced, speaking above the wind. He wondered, for a moment, why the floodlights were no longer filling the space. “Who are you-”

The touch came from nowhere.

He sent a blind punch into the night, gasping involuntarily when a returning strike caught his throat, quick and efficient; the force knocked him backwards and he felt the back of his head connect with metal flooring, heat rushing up to meet it.

Blinking the lights from his eyes, Jack got to his feet and held his hands out in a useless defence. He felt the proximity again, time slowing down when inhuman strength lunged in a second time, throwing him off his feet...

… and Jack fell, hearing his arm snap as it hit a metal beam, air leaving his lungs as he hit the water half a moment later; he was numb, unfeeling, the water a solid force that flooded his vision with grey-

**Author's Note:**

> part 2 will be coming soon - comments are appreciated! :)


End file.
